Witch Eyes

by Scott Tracey

  She was seated behind the desk, her copper hair frizzed from one too many perms. I tapped my fingers restlessly against the edge of the desk. “School just started. I was just curious, I heard a story someone was talking about in study hall,” I said with sudden inspiration. “But I’m not interested in the Lansings. Just about this Grace woman, and some sort of story about her.”

  “Grace Lansing,” the woman emphasized. “The Widow of Belle Dam. You probably heard that old ghost story, about how she wanders the Lansing estate on a full moon night, didn’t you?”

  Grace was one of the Lansings? “Right. Something like that.”

  “They say that she’s been waiting for her lost love to find her. Depending on who’s telling the story, sometimes he’s a ship’s captain, other times just a captain of industry. The woman in white is a fairly standard ghost story.”

  “Really? So it’s kind of like gossip? Someone picks up a story, and then goes home and tells their spin on it?”

  The librarian chuckled, shrugging her shoulders. “I like to think the legend started here with us. Wouldn’t that be exciting?”

  Oh, yes. Riveting. “Is there a copy of Grace’s story somewhere so I can read it?”

  She shook her head. “I’m afraid not.”

  Why hadn’t Lucien just told me that Grace was supposed to be a Lansing? “So there’s nothing in the library that can help me?”

  “There might be a mention of her in one of the books about local legends,” the librarian said helplessly. “But I don’t remember anything else.”

  “I’ll just ask Jade. I’m sure she can tell me something. But I didn’t know the town was all that big on legends and historical stuff.”

  “Oh, it’s a big part of Belle Dam, hon. There’s a Founder’s Fest in the summertime right before Labor Day. You just missed it.” She sighed wistfully. “Then there’s the Key Festival in the spring. It’s like an Easter egg hunt. The City Council hides a hundred keys all over town, and whoever finds the most wins a prize. My uncle won a year’s supply of firewood from the Thorpe company one year. At the awards ceremony, they tell the story of how Grace Lansing hid a number of keys all over town, and if anyone found them all, they’d find a hidden Lansing treasure.”

  “Treasure, huh? No wonder everyone likes the key hunt.”

  I thanked her for the help and headed for the exit. Nothing useful.

  Lucien’s address had been on Washington, which was the same street as the Belmont. All I had to do after leaving the library was turn toward the water and head in that direction. I cut across the street, behind a line of cars waiting at a light, and crossed over a corner of the town square.

  It only took a few minutes to reach Washington, where the traffic was much more serious. I followed the sidewalks, watching as cars zoomed past almost like there wasn’t any speed limit.

  At the corner, a group of people had gathered around the crosswalk, with one older man in a polo shirt and slacks pressing the button every three seconds.

  “That’s not going to make the light change any faster,” an exhausted-looking woman next to him snapped. She looked in my direction. “Peyton, get over here.” No, not at me. At the tiny little girl in the elaborate pink … gown.

  “I’m a princess,” she announced, looking up at me.

  I smiled down at her. She did some sort of dance that involved hopping and a pirouette as she circled around me. She giggled and spun toward me. I took a giant step forward, bounding out of her way so she could continue her dance.

  That’s kind of cute, I was thinking to myself when I noticed the bus barreling down the street. Like the other cars before it, it seemed to be completely disregarding speed limits.

  The little girl’s dance stopped and she looked up at me. Her eyes were wrong. Hollow. “You shouldn’t have come here, Braden,” the princess said in a much quieter, more adult tone.

  And then she pushed me so hard I went right off the sidewalk and into the street. Right in front of the oncoming bus.

  Ten

  There was a horn. Shouting. The sound of brakes screeching.

  I didn’t even think about it. I tore the glasses off my face, already twisting the magic inside me into something, anything, that would help.

  An implosion of light, a thunderclap of the space between broken sound, and a force that slammed into me like a football player.

  The bus wouldn’t have stopped in time, the momentum was too great. I’d done basic lessons in physics, and I had a very basic idea of how things worked. But apparently using magic to rip away the momentum of a moving object wasn’t a smart idea. Instead of collapsing and being totally fine, I’d caught some of that momentum and gone tumbling down the street.

  People were still shouting. The hydraulics attached to the bus door released, and the driver came out yelling. Somehow I had managed to keep hold of my sunglasses, and I slid them on.

  The little girl—hell, the whole family—was gone from the sidewalk where I’d seen them just a few seconds before. My palms burned from where they’d ground against the concrete in the street.

  “Where’d they go?” I asked, trying and failing to stand up on my own. A woman knelt down next to me, cautioning me to wait for an ambulance.

  “Jane! Jane, come on!” A man’s furious call distracted me. I looked to my left. He was shouting at the woman next to me. “You don’t know who caused this.”

  Only then did the woman look up, shocked into motion. There was just a moment where she looked at me, a moment where she almost started to speak, before she stood up and started to hurry off with the man’s arm tightened around hers.

  What the hell? All around me, people were rushing to put some distance between themselves and the scene. Only the bus driver and a few others were waiting around, focused on the aftermath of the “accident.”

  The second time I tried to stand was a little better. My whole right side was throbbing, and I felt like I had gravel in my hair, but the pain wasn’t significant. I’d dealt with worse.

  That little girl tried to kill me.

  I crossed in between the traffic and started running.

  ¤ ¤ ¤

  I didn’t stop until I’d reached the 600 block of Washington Street. I expected to see a few tiny office buildings each splitting up the block, but there was only one building here, and in looking around, it was one of the tallest in the city.

  The building opened up into a sort of mud room—floor mats covered the floors, and more doors led into the actual lobby. I took a few minutes to finish brushing myself off, checking the status of my clothes, and catching my breath.

  Aside from a few scrapes along my arms and legs, I wasn’t seriously bleeding or anything. My jeans weren’t quite so lucky, with one of the back pockets losing part of its stitching.

  Someone tried to kill me. If the bus had been moving any faster, or I hadn’t reacted so quickly … And then I froze.

  I’d used my powers in public. Worse, I’d used the witch eyes. There was just a hint of throbbing in the back of my head, but whether it was from the power or the accident, I wasn’t sure.

  What if someone had seen me? What if people find out? My stomach was rumbling something fierce by the time I walked into the lobby of the building. I saw a woman exiting the elevator and asked her about Fallon—she pointed toward a sign on the wall. Fallon Law held the entire top floor of the building. Every floor below it was split between dozens of different offices and agencies, but Fallon had one all to himself.

  The elevator was completely mirrored, creating reflections of myself that tunneled out into the distance. It was unsettling to see myself alone in the elevator, and yet crowded by so many mirror images. It was something surreal—like seeing one of my visions. But it was just an optical illusion.

  Just for a moment, I thought I saw so
mething move that shouldn’t have. Before I could help myself, I glanced to the far right. Out of the corner of my eye, I caught a glimpse of something dark swirling behind one of my reflections. I turned, but as I moved my eyes, the darkness moved to. It wasn’t something solid, like oil or shadows; it was granular, like black sand.

  I shifted around, pivoting to my right and even going so far as to pull the glasses away. Whatever I had seen was gone. Bright light smacked me in the face, drawing out colors and images that weren’t there a moment ago. Rings of purple bruising from the tears I never should have trusted him angry red stains copper on the carpet must get that fixed fire bowing down in his wake all angry oranges and gas blues money green in my purse the best job I’ve ever had. Why doesn’t he respect me as much as the others?

  Through the haze of senses, I saw my reflections. The panic in a hundred pairs of eyes, growing more fearful and unhinged the farther back they went. It was almost like each reflection was slightly different, and the ones farther back were becoming something I couldn’t quite recognize.

  I shoved the glasses back on my head, instantly disoriented with double and triple reflections that had nothing to do with mirrors.

  The elevator chimed, and the doors opened.

  This is such a bad idea.

  ¤ ¤ ¤

  “Mr. Fallon will see you now,” the supermodel behind the secretary’s desk cooed. Fake hair, fake lips. Fake everything. I didn’t believe that any parent would willingly name their daughter Candy. She was a Playboy Playmate dressed up as a secretary. This had to be some kind of joke.

  Despite the note saying Lucien wanted me here at 5:00, it was almost a quarter after before he was “ready for me.” In that time, I sat and tried to pull myself together, watching his office doors. No one entered or left. How busy could he be?

  I walked up to the double doors with their gold plating. Lucien Fallon, Attorney at Law. I closed my eyes, and tried to take a deep breath. Counted back from ten. Anything to stop the throbbing behind my eyes. It was getting worse.

  The office walls were wood paneled and stained dark, drawing the eye toward the full-length window that overlooked the rest of downtown. The school was easily visible, one of the few landmarks I recognized already.

  There were no law books—or anything to suggest the man’s office was in any way linked to the legal profession. Instead, the walls were lined with tasteful art. At least, at first glance, I thought it was tasteful. In one a woman lounged on a chair while something swarmed over her.

  “Hello, Braden,” Lucien said from the desk. He was wearing a charcoal suit that was identical to the one he’d worn in the diner, and a pair of tiny reading glasses. The desk itself was longer than I was tall. It made Lucien look tiny and unthreatening. “You’re late.” He made a show of looking at the gold watch on his wrist.

  I was late? “Your secretary kept me out there waiting.”

  “Did you really come here to argue over the time?” he said, pulling the reading glasses off and putting them into some sort of black case.

  I stayed near the door. “Someone tried to kill me,” I blurted out. “Right down there, on the street.” I pointed toward the windows, as if Lucien would be able to spot who did it.

  An eyebrow raised. “Well, aren’t you a precocious lad,” he said. “Your life nearly snuffed out on your first real day of independence. Bravo.”

  I couldn’t be hearing this. “Sorry?”

  “You didn’t think you were the only witch in Belle Dam, did you?” Lucien laughed. “My dear boy, you’re in between two of the most powerful magical dynasties to cross over into the New World.”

  “You mean … ”

  He waved a hand dismissively. “The vassals don’t even understand why they fear the Lansings and the Thorpes as much as they do. I suppose it’s become something of an inherited instinct.” He grew oddly wistful. “Wouldn’t that be something, if people were simply born to fear you.”

  “Well, one of them tried to kill me about twenty minutes ago.”

  “Oh, I’ve no doubt,” he said, with utter calm. “I suppose you’re wondering who?”

  I waited, somehow knowing that Lucien wanted to drag this out. It was like some sort of production to him. But this was what I’d come to Belle Dam to find out. Whoever tried to kill me was probably the same one from my vision.

  “A balance has existed for far too long. After certain regrettable events that took place years ago, Jason and Catherine called a cease-fire. Catherine has been looking for a secret weapon ever since.”

  “A secret weapon?” And then I understood. “Me?”

  Lucien nodded. “She’ll make sure everything between you and her is decimated; razed to the ground. While your life is still burning, she’ll stroll in, offer you her heartfelt comfort, and then make all your little dreams come true.”

  Trey had told me at the library that Lucien worked for Jason Thorpe. “And since you’re working for the other side, it’s in your best interests to stop that from happening, right? And probably recruit me for yourself?”

  He looked amused. “My role in these little games is a bit more complicated than that.”

  “And what do they—”

  “—want with a boy like you?” He shook his head. “Don’t be coy, Braden. Who is to say how powerful your gifts will make you? It could be that one day they’ll proclaim legends about you.”

  “I’m not somebody’s weapon, Lucien. That’s crazy.”

  Something on his desk beeped, and then Candy-the-Strippertary echoed from the telephone, “He’s coming off the elevator.”

  Lucien pressed another button, cutting her off. His eyes grew vacant and he glanced behind him, toward the view over the city. “He does so enjoy unraveling my schedule.” A sigh, and then he spun back around, his arms extended like he was about to ask for a hug. “I’ve tried to tell him, countless times, that things must happen on a timetable.”

  “What are you talking about? Who’s coming?” I glanced back at the door I’d come through and stepped further into the room. Backing away from the door.

  “Feel free to tell him you’re no one’s weapon, Braden.” Lucien glided past me, reaching for the door handle. “Although I imagine you’ll have other things on your mind.” I watched him pause and mouth some sort of countdown to himself. Only after he reached “one” did he move.

  He pulled the door open, and a man in a solid black suit stepped through without the slightest hitch in his step. My heart caught in my throat, choking off any thought of breathing. I recognized the nearly black hair, the height, the purposeful stride.

  Pieces of the puzzle were slamming into place so fast I should have gotten whiplash. That was my uncle’s hair, his height, his stride. But where Uncle John was round in the face and prone to laugh, this man’s face was narrow, and he was all business. There were streaks of gray in his hair, and that suit … Uncle John would never have sacrificed comfort for couture.

  But otherwise the resemblance was unmistakable.

  “That will be all, Lucien,” he said, his voice reverberating through the room. Lucien dipped his head in a nod and closed the door from the outside.

  Alone, I stared at the man who could only have been Jason Thorpe. Lucien’s boss.

  My father.

  Eleven

  “Hello, Braden,” Jason Thorpe said.

  I took another step backwards, my legs smacking against Lucien’s desk. Don’t throw up. Don’t throw up. Lunch was hours ago, but between the growing pulse in my head, and now the rebellion in my stomach, it was only a matter of time.

  This is some sort of joke. A test. My father was in the room with me. “What are you doing here?” I whispered, as if someone was listening.

  Jason kept his distance, crossing to the far side of the room and looking out the window. T
here was a clear shot to the door—if nothing else, I knew I could be out the door and out into the offices before he could catch up. His stuffy leather shoes couldn’t keep up with tennis shoes.

  The headache was growing in intensity, threatening to split my brain right down the middle. “Lucien’s been treating you well? He hasn’t given you any trouble?”

  He was so casual, like this was any ordinary conversation. I tried to swallow, but my mouth was dust. “No, Jason. No trouble.”

  “I was surprised when he told me you’d be returning to Belle Dam, but I learned long ago never to doubt his counsel.” He turned and strode behind the desk, taking the seat Lucien had so recently abandoned. “Have a seat, Braden.”

  “I’ll stand.” It was stupid, because my head was starting to throb so much that sitting would have been so much better. Actually, curling into a ball on the floor would have been the best, but I’d have to wait until I could get back to the hotel for that.

  Jason’s mouth moved upwards, proving he was capable of smiling, but the expression didn’t look quite right. “Yes, you are headstrong, aren’t you?” he murmured. Apparently it pleased him. And just as quickly his voice got sharp … and concerned? “What’s wrong?”

  My legs had started shaking, the mere idea of sitting enough to throw them into rebellion. And so I sank into one of the chairs, as much as I didn’t want to. Jason, the room, all of it vanished as I focused inward. It took everything in me to hold my stomach down and not sink into unconsciousness.

  I couldn’t even reach for the pills in my book bag. Why hadn’t I taken them earlier, at the first sign of the headache? What was wrong with me?

  My hands were cupped around my eyes, blocking out as much of the light as they could. I focused on my breathing, the way my uncle had taught me. When Jason laid his hands on me, like he was some sort of priest, I flinched in surprise.

  His palms were on either side of my face, his fingers pressing against my temples. My face was flush, but his hands were a balming ice against my skin. At the edges of my awareness I could feel him gathering the magic around him. Slowly the ice began to seep into my skin, crackling and spreading its way inside and soothing away the pain.